


If Glue Doesn't Work, Use Staples

by ChildOfSin



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 07:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChildOfSin/pseuds/ChildOfSin
Summary: Pratt learns why you should never cross your superiors





	If Glue Doesn't Work, Use Staples

**Author's Note:**

> I waited two weeks for my invitation to this site and it hurt me every second I waited.

“Staci, come here.”

Jacob sat, almost carelessly as he waited for his deputy to open the door. He knew Staci was just outside, waiting on him like he’d been told to do, so there was no way he hadn’t heard Jacob. Not when the anxious little sheep was waiting on edge for any and all recognition that he was there.

Although...

The militia man wasn’t as stupid as some people thought. He knew exactly what had happened two days ago and why the seemingly failsafe cage was empty of the deputy he and his family fought so hard to contain with no evidence of tampering on the lock.

He knew, and he was not happy.

He knew there was only one man to blame for the wild animal once again terrorizing his domain, and knew there had to be something done to assure it didn’t happen again.

The door opened sheepishly— as if doors had emotions and body language to display as such— and the sheep, all hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, huddled in.

He had been unable to pee the last two days, unable to poop despite the hours he hid in the lush bathroom Jacob spoiled his militia with, and stood cotton mouthed in the doorway. Just as he had stood, cotton mouthed as the alarm klaxons had burst to life unexpectedly two days ago and shoved the deputy over the railing. Unable to do ANYTHING, in fact, he stood, eyes downtrodden to the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world and not a scuffed up wooden floor of the man he hated and was loyal to the most.

“Y-yes, Jacob?”

Standing up had the effect of a lion stalking prey, only the prey had no way of running or escaping the fate of being lunch. No way to stop what destiny had in mind for thefaceless link of the natural food chain, no way to defend and no way to even FATHOM fighting back. Staci shrunk back, yet kept his feet planted and eyes glued to the floorboards

He was strong. He knew it in his bones. No matter how many times Jacob told him otherwise.

“Do you know of a man named Emmerson M. Pugh?”

He knew full well the answer to his own question, and full well knew there was no possible way he could get a lie out of the man in front of him.

“No sir.”

Acting taken aback, Jacob took a step closer, watching Staci take a step closer to wilting like a barbecued flower underneath his gaze

“You don’t philosophize? Read poetry, ponder over life’s mysteries, wonder how things function and why they do so?”

“I... didn’t do a lot of reading when I worked for the city. Too much going on in the precinct...”

As if he could tell the point of the matter existed elsewhere, Staci quickly clammed up. Jacob felt a hit of a smile on his face at the good behavior, but tamped it down. No amount of good behaviour would free him from punishment.

“Well, he wrote a lot of biology. Specifically, about the brain. One of his more profound quotes has stuck with me these last few days, and I wanted to share and reflect with you.”

Taking another step forward, Jacob placed both hands on the shorter male’s shoulders, enjoying the way his mere presence made the former deputy jump. Now if only he could get that kind of reaction from the savage killing his militia and wounding his family.

Baby steps.

“In his book ‘The Biological Origin of Human Values’, he says... what was it?”

A nonanswerable question, yet the man paused, watching Staci squirm where he stood.

“If the mind were so simple we could understand it,”

And with he squeezed the deputy’s shoulder almost painfully as he forced his pet’s chin up to look him in the eye,

“We would be so simple that we couldn’t.”

The men stared at eachother for a moment before Jacob once again broke the silence, stepping away from his deputy. He could almost feel the fear and tension ebb away a fraction as he turned, back to the other male.

“I’ve noticed a lot about that. First, some brains are quite a bit more complicated than others. Humans in relation to cattle, foxes in relation to rabbits. And,”

He turned yet again, stare intense as he gazed upon his conquest,

“You in contrast to your savage friend.”

Not even mentioning the deputy’s name; he fiddled in his pockets, not yet moving.

“You were resiliant in the beginning, much like the animal now CURRENTLY running amok in Hope County. You knew when to buckle lest you lose your life to the cause. You knew when to say yes, knew it like how an animal senses food, a dog senses fear. In a way, my friend,”

Suddenly, his calm demeanor changed, and the man lunged forward to grab Staci by his neck and slam him against the wall. Predictably, Prat struggled for a moment, primal fear in his eys, before calming down in order to focus on both breathing and maintaining eye contact with his superior.

“You ARE much like a dog. Lassie came when called, Air Bud played sports when his team was down a player and you? You could be SO MUCH MORE with the proper training.”

Punctuating his sentence with loud thumps, Jacob pulled Staci inches from the wall, only to slam him back against it. Inwardly, the smaller deputy chuckled at the thought of the cult leader currently strangling him watching the child’s movie Air Bud, but knew better than to voice his humor.

“The fact is,”

Jacob unclasped his hands from Staci's neck, letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor hacking and wheezing,

“I’m not so sure any further training will get through your simple brain. I know firsthand how hard it is to properly train someone— we were SO CLOSE with the conditioning when you opened that cage door, Staci, all of it going to waste as soon as that key turned.”

As if he was hurt and not instead enraged, Jacob stalked back to his chair only to send it flying into the wall. It wasn’t so old that it splintered immediately, but now the wall had a sizable dent and the chair had no arms, and Staci again wondered inwardly if he would be the one to fix them instead of more pressing matters like how long he had to live and enjoy breathing before his broken body was dumped on the Hope County jail doorstep as some kind of message.

Maybe he should have gone to get his broken nose checked out anyway— no no, against Jacob orders not to? He couldn’t. It had healed somewhat, a bit crooked even, from his first encounter with Jacob fist— a fist that soon was reunited with his still bruised face, knocking the smaller man from his concussed and aimless thoughts. If ge hadn’t had a concussion before, he sure had one now.

Falling backwards, he had a start of adrenaline that his feet had moved despite Jacob clear wish that they stay where they were, and he scrambled to get back up. Almost drunkenly he stood, only to meet another fist to the eye and greet the floor yet again, his thin tailbone banging painfully off the wooden floors.

He’d never seen Jacob this mad before, and couldn’t help but stand and look him in the eye, tears already staring to prickle his sight.

The effect of his deputy’s conditioning to keep standing up even when knocked back down seemed to make matters worse, and Jacob growled aloud, planting a thick combat boot into Staci's soft stomach. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards, hips painfully hitting the desk behind him.

Jacob was on him in an instant, more fists flying to his disciple’s soft spots.

“I. TRUSTED. You.”

Bruises were already blooming in the presence of thickened knuckle cartilage.

“Which was a MISTAKE.”

Already an irrecular purple ring was forming above the adam’s apple.

“Since you are CLEARLY not as well trained as I thought you were.”

A sickening crack split the air as a nose on the verge of healing was snapped aside, a misplaced mewl of pain only serving to enrage the militia leader further.

“But how can I learn?’, you might ask?”

Staci didn’t hear him.

“How can I better serve the man that SAVED me?’ you might ask.”

He certainly wasn’t asking anything, on the brink of a concussed blackout.

“The brain—“

The beating stopped, leaving one man slumped bruised and bloody on the floor, and one man heaving with the effort.

“Is a miraculous organ. It can repair itself, heal certain things, and block others away.”

Staci drunkenly felt large calloused hands on his waist, pulling him up to slam him back against the desk.

“Much like a false wall can hide counterfeit money. Have you any counterfeit behaviors we should rip out of the walls, Staci?”

When there was no response, Jacob raised an arm and backhanded the deputy, bringing him back to life with a gasp.

“I know many things, Deputy. I know God is testing me, as he is testing my Father... and I know he is testing my siblings as they walk towards the afterlife. But I do NOT know if you will learn your lesson this way...”

The cult leader grabbed Staci's abused chin, his thick fingers bruising as they squeezed the man’s jaw open as if trying to tear an answer from the throat beneath.

“So I will try another.”

A calm washed over the last remaining child of Jacob Seed and he smiled, petting Staci's messy hair and smoothing blood out of his eyes. One hand strayed to a desk drawer, rooting inside until he found what he wanted.

A staple gun.

Being none too gentle, Jacob flipped the barely conscious deputy over and pulled his hands up to splay on the desk. Mahogany, he thought offhandedly as he positioned the gun. A hollow THUNK resonated around the two figures as the staple ground home— through the webbing of Staci's left thumb and index finger straight into the table.

The result was instantaneous. Pratt, seemingly brought back from the brink of death once again, screamed like he was on fire. He didn’t even know he was screaming at first, just that there was a more splitting pain than the dull bruises and broken ribs he was used to. His instincts kicked in and he squirmed, Jacob rewarding him for his insolence by pressing his larger frame against Staci's and keeping his body pinned to the desk.

“This the exact insolence I was referring to. Your brain had begun healing. Healing—“

THUNK!

The other thumb webbing into the desk.

“Before the surgery is even done! You shouldn’t close your chest cavity until the surgeon is COMPLETE with the HEART TRANSPLANT, STACI.”

The tears flowed freely now, stemmed from pain, terror, and uncertainty. Was he to die here? Pinned under a madman?

As if to answer his question, Jacob leaned more heavily on his smaller friend, grinding both his hips down onto Pratt’s and the broken ribs into the table. Mewling, he tried begging for forgiveness, but all that came out was miserable sobbing.

Jacob knew the makeshift restraints he’d installed wouldn’t hold if Pratt yanked hard enough. Though he also knew Pratt wouldn’t have the audacity to undo his handiwork, nor the balls to hurt himself further by ripping his hands free, and as such felt a little praise was necessary.

Shushing his pleading cries like a scared animal or small child, Jacob again pet the deputy's dark locks, brushing some out of his face.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s ok. You’ll soon know not to cross these roads again.”

Dully, Pratt could hear metal clinking on metal, and was sent into another panic attack as he felt fabric slip down to his knees.

He wouldn’t—

Deapite the weeks of training, conditioning, of behavior changing tactics, Pratt screamed, his denial stopping even his own heart for a moment.

“You have no place in this argument, child,” Jacob muttered darkly, unbuckling his own belt. He knew this was wrong, that one man must never lie with another, but was this really lying? They had no feelings, no romance between them, but mostly because Staci was undeserving. Biting his lip as he shamefully stroked himself, Jacob began praying for forgiveness rather than asking for permission.

Beneath him, Staci was hysterical.

Nothing stopped Jacob from pushing into where he shouldn’t be, and nothing kept Staci from instantly tearing. There was no preparation, no lubricant, no love behind his actions, as well as no knowledge of how it worked.

He just knew it was effective in breaking spirits to mold back to exactlywhat one could want from someone.

The thrusts started slow—Jacob muttering blasphemous curses at how his dick chafed, the deputy squirming and crying every step of the way. As such, Jacob had no knowledge of how male on male fornication worked— never needed it, never desired it— but felt guilt.  
Guilt for sinning against his Father, guilt for going against The Word, but no guilt for how he was affecting the man below.

He only felt anger towards him as Staci closed his knees, trying to keep the unwanted intrusion from going any further. For his efforts, Jacob moved a bloodied hand up to his mouth to shove several fingers roughty into his jaw, keeping it immobile and muffled. There. At least now he wouldn’t hear the annoying screaming he thought he’d beaten out of the sinner.

The cult leader pulled out slowly once, as if debating his actions, then decided to continue and slammed in again, jolting Pratt against the edge of the desk again. The thrusts became increasingly more punishing, as if he was trying to murder the man below with only his penis, and the man beneath him shivered, quieting down to cracking sobs.

Soon he became erratic— a feeling pooling in his loins he felt many times with other women, and Jacob continued to increase speed and ferocity, feeling like the animal Pratt had let loose with the quick paced and monotonous slap of his hips on his deputy’s rear.

He suddenly stopped, burying himself as deep as possible, pausing to look at the mess of a man he’d made. The deputy was no longer moving beneath him, just breathing shallow rapid breaths like a wounded jackrabbit as blood dribbled down his inner thighs.

Weak.

With an experimental thrust, Jacob unsheathed his hunter’s blade to slice delicately through the policeman’s shirt, exposing his fair back, then continuing to cut as he drew out a single word. The cutting sensation seemed to spark new life in his victim as he carved each letter into the sinner’s back and the smaller male screamed through the fist in his mouth.

B  
The thrusing again grew faster.  
E  
Jacob had a hard time concentrating on lettering as he continued to punish the man beath him.  
T  
Pratt sucked in a breath, fearing for how long the word Jacob had chosen for his new tattoo might be.  
R  
Feeling himself grinning, Jacob took his sweet time in carving the letters.  
A  
The deep jagged cuts stained the tattered clothes beneath the deputy and Jacob made a grunting noise of aproovalat the sight.  
Y  
Blood flowed easily down his back as Staci squirmed and writhed.  
A  
The nice mahogany desk was ruined, but Jacob felt pride in having matching furniture just as ruined pinned on top of it.  
L  
Offhandedly, Jacob hoped the cuts would get infected so he would have yet another reason to discipline his boy.

And as the last letter was finished, Jacob felt a pang of despair as he buried himself to the holy and came deep within Pratt, stilling and slowly softening inside him as both men lay panting and spent.

The staples were easily removed with pliers nearby, but the memories they left would be ingrained in the deputy forever. Almost robotic in his actions, the deputy let out a deep huff, his broken gaze not leaving the wall from where his cheek lay resting against the cold wood of the table he’d been murdered on.

Pulling his victim to the bed to congratulate him on being strong through his punishment, Jacob kisses the side of the smaller male’s neck with surprising tenderness as he cuddled the pain away. Like he was a completely different person. Like they were BOTH completely different people. He didn’t object as he was picked up and carried off, nor did he squirm or protest as Jacob pulled off his tattered shirt and slid under the covers next to him.

Jacob was right.

He would never cross those roads again.

“I hope you learned your lesson, Disciple.”


End file.
